Those thousands of migrants risking their lives in boats with babies and young children as they cross treacherous seas from Africa? They're seeking 'home'.
Those dispossessed individuals sleeping rough under newspaper and in refuse skips? They're dreaming of home.
Those families crammed into dank, damp, poorly maintained rental accommodation? They've probably given up on the idea of home.
Those old people left alone and dehydrated in dreadful care homes across the country? They've lost their homes.
Our kids chances of buying a home of their own? Remote.
Arguably home is more than bricks and mortar. It is the word which describes the living, breathing love and protection at the heart of each family unit. Home is the place where we can, ironically, let down our defenses and let our true selves show.
We know, logically, that those who live in stately mansions may not be as happy as we are in our starter homes or tiny cramped flats. But somehow, property has become a channel for happiness. It has always been a sign of status of course. "An Englishman's home is his castle" as the expression goes. Except even the concept of nationality has changed. I couldn't even begin to describe what it means to be English any more. And don't know if I should be able to.
So I'm not going to talk about interior decor, or fluffy cushions. I'm not going to wax lyrical about herbaceous borders (you've seen pictures of my garden, it's pointless!) nor bake a batch of muffins.
But I am going to say that if you value the concept of home and if you care that people DIED to give you the chance to vote, then get to the polling station and make your views known.
It's the adult thing to do. It's the mature thing to do and if you are not prepared to put a stake in the ground and say "this is my home and THIS is what I believe in", then you'll only have yourself to blame if your homestead is less secure in future.
